The Generals

General Harris received Tipoo’s sons graciously and promised that they would be well treated the moment they had given their paroles. As they were led away Harris joined Arthur as he stood gazing through the tent flaps towards Seringapatam. Listening to the distant pop of gunfire and faint shouts and screams both men were well aware of the horrors unfolding in the city.

‘Baird’s not holding his men back, then?’

‘No, sir.’

‘A pity.This is going to make the job that much more difficult for the man who is to take charge of the city. There will plenty of work to be done wi

‘Sir?’

‘I’ve made my decision. I want you to be the first Governor of Mysore.’

‘Me, sir?’ Arthur was too tired to hide his shock and surprise.

‘You. Now get back to your tent and get some sleep.You take charge of the city first thing in the morning.’

Chapter 50

Napoleon

Paris, October 1799

Josephine entered the house as quietly as she could and closed the servants’ door behind her. Even though it was early in the evening the house was silent. She knew that Napoleon had already arrived.The coach he had travelled in from Marseilles was in the yard beside the stable at the back of the house, and the horses were quietly munching on their feed. She had instructed the driver of the carriage she had borrowed from Barras to drop her at the end of the street. As soon as word reached Paris that Napoleon had returned from Egypt, Josephine had been thrown into a panic. Enough people in the city already knew of her unfaithfulness for word to have come to the ears of her husband’s family, and it was certain that he would discover the truth soon enough, if he had not already. So Josephine had gone to her old friend Paul Barras and begged him to lend her his best carriage and horses so that she might meet Napoleon on the road to Paris and tell him the truth, before the rest of his family could fill his head with their version of events. She had resolved to find him, seek his forgiveness, promise to be faithful for ever more, and get him into bed. A night of passion would win him over so completely that no amount of sordid scandalmongering from his family would tear him from her. Unfortunately, the damned driver had lost his way on the road from Paris and after two days of confusion Josephine had ordered him to return to the capital.

She stood a moment on the threshold of the hall and listened. The only sound she could hear above the muffled noises from the street was the ticking of a clock. Swallowing nervously, she made her way along the hall, wincing as a floorboard creaked beneath her. A lamp burned above the front door and the warm glow of a fire in the hearth of the sitting room cast its orange hue in a slant across the hall. By the feeble light she noticed a large mass crowding the corner by the door. As she approached, the shape resolved itself into a pile of chests, hatboxes and bags, neatly stacked. With a stab of anxiety Josephine realised that these were her belongings, all of them, packed and ready to go.

‘Oh, no . . .’ she moaned. Then, steeling herself, she glanced into the sitting room. But it was empty, even though the fire had only recently been built up and the wood crackled and hissed as it burned.

‘Mother?’ The voice came from directly behind her and Josephine’s heart leaped as she spun round. Hortense stood at the entrance to the kitchen. In the glow of the lamp Josephine could see that she had been crying.

‘My God, he hasn’t hurt you, has he?’

Hortense shook her head.

‘Where is he?’

‘Upstairs, in your bedroom.’ Hortense swallowed nervously. ‘He was in a wild rage when he arrived. Shouting and calling you all sorts of names when he discovered you weren’t here. He called you a . . . a whore, and smashed all the mirrors in your dressing room. Then he told his servant to pack all your belongings. He says he wants you out of his house for ever.’

‘Only when I’m good and ready,’ Josephine muttered and turned to the stairs, hurriedly climbing to the first floor where the main bedroom was at the rear of the house. Skirts rustling over the floorboards she strode to the door and turned the handle. The door did not yield and she realised that Napoleon had locked her out.

‘Napoleon. Open the door.’

‘Go away!’

She smiled.At least he had spared her the pretence of ignoring her.‘Go away? From my house, and from the side of my husband? Why would I want to do that?’

‘So you can be in the arms of your lover, you traitor!’

‘What lover?’

‘The one you were with when I reached Paris. When you should have been here.’

A wave of relief swept through Josephine. She took a breath to calm her nerves, and lowered her voice.‘I wasn’t in Paris. I was on the road looking for you. My coachman took a wrong turning and we must have missed you.’ It sounded false even as she said it, but it was true, and she could prove it easily enough.

‘Liar!’

‘It’s true!’ she called back. ‘I swear it on the lives of my children. As soon as I heard you had landed in France I set off to meet you. I could not wait to be back in your arms again. And if that damned coachman had known his business that’s where I would have been three days ago. Oh, Napoleon, my love, open the door. I beg you!’

‘No. Now go. Please.’

Please? She smiled to herself at the first sign of his weakening.

‘I ca

‘Then you can die for all I care.’

She felt anger rising inside at his words, but forced herself to maintain her pleading tone. ‘Very well, my love. I will go. But only if you let me see your face one last time. I will not say goodbye to a door, Napoleon. Open it and make your farewell face to face.’

There was a short pause, before he said suspiciously, ‘Why?’

‘We are adults, my love, so please let’s behave with the dignity of adults.’ She made her tone as gentle and reasonable as possible. ‘Now, open this door.’

There was silence, then the soft padding of bare feet. Her heart beat fast against her breast as a key turned in the door and a moment later the handle twisted and the door opened slowly.

Next morning Lucien arrived on the doorstep of his brother’s house and rapped the knocker. A moment later the door was opened by the preposterously dressed servant Napoleon had brought back with him from Egypt.

‘Has my brother risen?’

‘No, sir.’ Roustam stood aside to let Lucien pass, and Lucien could not help smiling as he saw that the hall was empty of all the baggage that had been there when he had called the day before. ‘Ah - she’s gone then.’

‘Sir, I—’

‘Just get some coffee brewing and take it to the study. My brother and I will be in conference this morning.’

‘But, sir . . .’

‘Just prepare the coffee!’ Lucien repeated. He climbed the stairs two at a time. He felt elated by the departure of Josephine. Now his brother would be able to concentrate his full energies on other, far more important, matters. Reaching the door at the end of the landing, he did not knock, but turned the handle and entered the room.

‘Napoleon, it’s late.You were supposed to be at my house an hour ago. As it is I’ve come to you and—’

He stopped abruptly and stared towards the bed. Napoleon was propped up on a pillow, his pasty white chest naked and his dark hair as rumpled and untidy as the tangled bedclothes that covered his lower body. Resting her head on his shoulder was Josephine. Lucien took a deep breath and clenched his teeth to hold back his surprise and anger. He took a step back towards the door.